The Final Threshold
by KyrieofAccender
Summary: Raoul's plan to capture Erik is, quite frankly, ludicrous... but could it actually work? Rating for some violence. Twoshot.
1. Shadow and Flame

A/N: Hello, all! This just sort of popped into my head when I had writer's block everywhere else. It was originally going to be part of "Love the Stars", so there will be some similarities (i.e., the dates, the 3rd person style) but I've changed the entire plot of that, so this didn't fit anymore. I liked it a lot, though, and thought it had merit to stand on its own. This is actually a twoshot - the next chapter will be up soon, if you lovely readers like it.

**Summary**: Raoul's plan to capture Erik is thoroughly ludicrous... but could it actually work?

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any characters, setting, song lyrics, et cetera, that you might recognize in this story. I am not profiting except in reviews and amusement.

Enjoy!

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_RAOUL (to the MARKSMAN) You in the pit - do you have a clear view of this box? _

_MARKSMAN (appearing from the pit) Yes, sir. _

_RAOUL Remember, when the time comes, shoot. Only if you have to - but shoot. To kill._

_Act II, Scene VI_

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Chapter 1: Shadow and Flame

_15th February, 1882_

"Raoul, I told you, I won't do this! I _can't_ do this!"

"Christine, I've told _you_, you are the pivotal part…"

"You mean I am the bait for him! I refuse to do this; I refuse to have any part in it! This is cruel, inhuman! It isn't fair!"

"I am afraid it's too late. The performance of his accursed opera is tomorrow night. He will come to hear you sing, I know it."

"And he will slip free of your trap like water through your hands! This is his home, Raoul! You can't possibly hope to…"

"I am damn well going to try!"

"Raoul, he hasn't done anything! Why do you condemn a man whom you have never seen, whom no one really knows and about whom you yourself know nothing?"

That finally silenced Raoul. He stared at his childhood friend for a long time, thinking over what she had just said.

"When I told you of the Angel of Music, you saw nothing wrong with him then. Nothing has changed." Christine said softly.

"I didn't know then that he was a murderer!"

"That wasn't him, Raoul! The chandelier fell of its own accord – the chain was rusted through. He had _nothing_ to do with it."

"Even if what you say is true, Christine, no one will believe it. He's a menace to this theater…"

"Were it not for him, there would be no theater here!" Christine snapped.

"Christine, do you really expect me to believe a word of this?"

"I expect you to listen to the truth!"

Raoul sighed.

"Even if it is true, there's nothing I can do about it now. It's too late."

"We can't just sit here and do nothing, Raoul! He could be killed! There's still time – call off the gendarmes, Raoul…"

"I can't, Christine."

Christine's face hardened suddenly, and she stared up at Raoul with barely controlled hatred.

"You mean you won't. You have the chance to save a man's life, Raoul – take it!"

He shook his head sadly.

"There's nothing I can do, Christine. I suggest you go home and go to bed; get ready for tomorrow."

"I won't do it, Raoul!"

But he ignored her and walked away. Fuming, Christine slammed the door of her dressing room behind him. She began to gather up her things, muttering angrily to herself.

"My, what has got you in such a mood?" Erik said from the corner, chuckling slightly.

His smile vanished, however, when Christine explained what was going on.

"They plan to use my own opera as a trap?" he said, furious.

"Yes. And they intend to use _me_ as the bait! No matter how many times I tell them no…"

"You? They want to use you… to get to me?"

"Yes." Christine walked over and stood very close in front of him, putting her hand on his shoulder. "I can't do that, Erik. I just can't…"

Distractedly, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

"No, Christine, you must. The managers seem like desperate man… I don't want to give them a reason to hurt you."

Christine buried her face in his shoulder for a long moment.

"You will… you will be careful, won't you?"

He smiled reassuringly at her.

"Of course, _mon ange_. Of course."

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_16th February, 1882_

Christine felt as though she might vomit. This was far beyond ordinary nerves, she knew. This was terror. What if Raoul's ridiculous plan actually succeeded? She knew that they would not hesitate to kill Erik… For the thousandth time, she considered simply not going onto the stage… but Erik had told her that she must…

Finally, Christine stepped out onto the stage, singing, and yet filled with dread. _I mustn't show it_, she thought. _I have to make them believe that nothing unusual is happening…_

She sat down on the edge of the stage and waited for Piangi to reenter. Waited just a moment too long… it was all she could do to keep from turning around to see what was going on behind her.

That urge intensified tenfold when she heard the familiar phrase sung by a voice that was _not_ Piangi's. She managed to keep from looking over her shoulder, but her eyes widened in a mixture of shock, fear, and… something else that she could not quite name. Christine wanted to run over to Erik and ask him what in God's name he was doing there… but perhaps no one else had noticed that Erik had replaced Piangi…

Something very strange started happening to her as Erik began to sing, however. Her panic slowly melted away, and she looked up at him, her eyes still wide, a soft smile on her face. Her feet began to carry her through the blocking… and yet, it wasn't just blocking anymore. There was something about hearing Erik sing this way to her, his voice low, seductive, almost a growl, that made it alarmingly real, and yet… it wasn't so alarming, was it?

Erik watched her through the hood of his long, black cloak. He knew that she recognized him from the way that she had first looked at him, but now… he'd never seen her behave this way before. Acting, he told himself firmly, she's acting. That is what she is supposed to do… Well, he wasn't acting… this was _his_ music, and he had written it for her…

He hadn't planned on taking Ubaldo Piangi's place. He had been waiting quietly backstage for the end of the performance, determined to at least hear his opera if he could not watch it because of that damned Vicomte's plan. But they had hardly gotten through one act before the pompous tenor had reappeared backstage, throwing down Don Juan's black cloak and refusing to sing another note of "this farce of an opera." Erik didn't wait to hear his loud, rude exclamations in Italian – he had picked up the cloak from the ground, pulled it on, and stepped out onto the stage. It had seemed the only logical choice – after all, the show must go on, and they hardly expected him to appear _in_ the opera, did they?

It was worth the risk, he decided when Christine began to sing her part of the song. A thought suddenly floated across Erik's mind – what if she wasn't acting? What if… what if, like him, she meant what she was saying? No… no, that could not be…

Christine shivered as Erik pulled her into his arms and the song reached its climax…

"_The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn! We've passed the point of no return_…"

Raoul was standing in the wings on stage right, behind the man in the black cloak. It was obviously _not_ Ubaldo Piangi, and he feared the worst for the man if the Phantom had had anything to do with this… But he didn't think long on the fate of the pretentious tenor. Instead, he was staring at the action onstage, slightly shocked. Never before had he heard two voices so perfectly matched… Who _was_ that man? And Christine… why did Christine have that… _look _on her face? He had to find out…

Erik's voice changed completely as he began to sing again; it was soft and gentle, her Angel's voice… but she was not familiar with the song he was singing to her… it was not part of the opera! The orchestra fell silent, and Christine could imagine Reyer frantically searching for the lost piece of music… but she forgot all that when she heard what Erik was saying:

"_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime,_

_Lead me, save me from my solitude,_

_Say you want me with you here, beside you_…

_Anywhere you go, let me go too!_

_Christine, that's all I ask of_…"

He never finished, for Raoul had suddenly appeared on the stage behind him. Outraged, the young Vicomte grabbed the hood and pulled it away from the man's face… something hard came away in his hand as well…

Erik couldn't bring his hand up fast enough. Raoul had not only succeeded in pulling the hood off, but his mask as well… Someone in the wings screamed… He looked back at Christine – she was looking past him at the boy, with an expression of pure hatred on her face… He turned slightly to see what the Vicomte was doing now. The boy was staring up at him in horror, Erik's mask clutched in his hand. He staggered backwards, looking at his face as though he could not bring himself to look, but nor could he avert his eyes…

Someone in the orchestra pit stood up suddenly. By the time anyone registered that he was holding a gun, it was too late. More people screamed as the gunshot reverberated around the theater. Erik was among them – he roared in pain and sank to the floor, clutching his right shoulder.

"_No!_" Christine cried, dropping to her knees beside him.

Gently, she pulled the cloak off him, horrified to see that his shoulder was already red with blood. She had to get him away from the stage, and she had to do it quickly, but how…?

Wrapping one arm firmly around Erik, she took a fistful of the cloak and flipped the edge of it towards the gas lights on the edge of the stage. The corner landed in one of the bright, flickering flames, which began to travel down the rest of the length of fabric…

Hoping that the diversion that caused would be sufficient enough to allow her to get into the wings at least, she jumped to her feet, pulling Erik with her, and darted off the stage.

Erik dimly registered what she was doing. Despite the agonizing pain in his shoulder, despite the fact that he felt extremely dizzy, he forced his legs to move…

"Christine…" he whispered.

"Shhh, Erik, it'll be all right. I'll get you out of here…" Christine said soothingly, but Erik caught the hint of fear in her words.

"Where is it?" She muttered, searching the walls in the wings frantically for the gas valve… if she could find it, she could turn the lights out, and she and Erik could escape… There it was! Hoping that she was turning it the right way, she tugged on the wheel… plunging the stage into darkness.

There was more screaming, but Christine didn't pay any attention. She raced towards the small amount of light coming in through the doors at the back of the wings, dragging Erik with her.

_Clever, Christine_, Erik thought, a faint smile appearing on his face for a moment. They would have to turn the lights back on before they could come searching for them… He grimaced as his movement jostled his shoulder. He thought he had become used to pain, but that… never had anything felt like that before. He could feel himself slowing, stumbling along beside Christine as she tried to pull him to safety. He knew he was losing far too much blood…

Christine opened the door to her dressing room and raced towards the mirror, not bothering to shut the door behind her. Suddenly, however, Erik slid free of her grasp and collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath.

"Erik…" she said gently, dropping to her knees beside him, looking at him with a reassuring smile. "Erik, we must keep going… I've got to get you out of here…"

"I… I'm sorry, Christine… I can't…"

"Yes, you can, Erik. We have to…"

"Go on, Christine… you go… leave me…"

"No! Never!" she cried, her voice breaking, her eyes filling with tears.

"Perhaps it's better… better this way…"

"No, Erik, don't talk like that. You'll be all right… Oh please, Erik, don't leave me! I need you… I love you…"

Erik looked up from the floor to stare at her, his unusually pale face shocked.

"Do you… do you really mean that?"

"Yes, I do. Please, Erik, we have to get out of here… it won't be long before they find us…"

Erik nodded and allowed Christine to pull him to his feet. Strange, how simple words could help him find new strength… He knew that it would not last long, though.

The journey through the dark tunnels seemed to take an eternity. It was as though Christine could feel the man beside her fading with every step… she didn't have much time… Oh, God, what if she couldn't save him? No, she could _not_ allow herself to think of that now. She had to be strong for Erik's sake… if she allowed herself a second's doubt, Erik could die… and her world would be so silent without him…

Erik stumbled into the boat, falling in a heap in the floor of the little craft with a soft moan. Nervously, Christine stepped in and picked up the pole, pushing carefully off from the little dock. She moved as fast as she dared; maneuvering the boat was tricky, and if it capsized… She breathed a sigh of immense relief when they reached the other side. Carefully, she helped Erik out of the boat and into an armchair in his house before searching for something to use to stop the bleeding…

Erik clutched the arms of the chair so hard that his knuckles turned white; he gritted his teeth as a fresh wave of fiery pain washed over him, all down his arm, across his chest… Christine returned then, with what looked like a torn pillowcase. He managed a smile when he saw her… he knew that if he died now, he would die happier than he had ever been… She wadded up a strip of the white fabric and pressed it to his wound. Inadvertently, he let out a hiss of agony.

"I'm sorry, Erik!" she cried, her voice much higher-pitched than was normal. "I didn't mean to hurt you!"

"I know…" he said through clenched teeth.

He braced himself as she pressed the cloth to the injury again. She held it there as gently as she could and, trying very hard not to cause him any more pain, wrapped the other strips of the torn pillowcase around his shoulder as best she could.

"There's nothing else I can do, Erik… I have to get you to a doctor…"

"No." Erik said shortly.

"Erik, if I don't do something, you'll die! I can't do this on my own – I don't know how! Please, Erik, please…"

Erik relented, his mind clouded with pain and the idea that she truly did love him… If he were to die now, he would lose her…

"There is an old… _acquaintance_ of mine living here in Paris. Someone I knew from my days in Persia… It is possible that he will help me…"

Christine could tell that for some reason he was not overjoyed at the prospect of asking this man for help, but there was no time for hesitation on her part. Following Erik's instructions, she helped him stagger out of his house and up to the street, coming out of a concealed entrance to the side of the Opera house on the Rue Scribe. Ignoring his protestations, Christine hailed a brougham and gave the very confused-looking driver the address that Erik told her. She then helped Erik into the cab, where he collapsed against her, his breathing ragged. Careful not to jostle his injured shoulder, she reached up and kissed the distorted flesh of his right cheek gently, and she smiled softly when she thought she heard him sigh quietly…

The brougham stopped at the specified address on the Rue de Rivoli. As soon as he had driven away, Christine led Erik up to the door he indicated and knocked loudly, praying that whoever it was that lived here was home…

The door was opened by a Persian man, who surveyed the two strange people on the doorstep with distaste. No, wait – he did recognize one, and that made his slight scowl all the more evident. The man. Even though he had his face turned so that the left side of it was towards him, he was quite recognizable.

"May I help you?"

"Darius, I would like a word with Monsieur Khan, if you please."

Grudgingly, the manservant stepped aside and watched as the young woman led Erik, one hand attempting to cover his face, over to the sofa. He then left to alert his master.

"Master, you have… visitors."

Nadir Khan got to his feet and looked at Darius with a smile, laughing slightly at the expression of distaste on his servant's face.

"Do I? Who?"

"Erik, sir. I do not know the other."

"Erik? What the devil is he doing here? Hm, I wonder how he found us. I suppose I shall go find out."

The tall Persian man strode into the front room to find Erik sitting on his sofa, and, to his immense surprise, a beautiful young woman kneeling at his feet, looking worriedly up at him.

"Erik! What the devil brings you here?"

"This." Erik said simply, raising his elbow with a grimace so that Nadir could see the makeshift bandage and bloodstained shirt while still keeping his hand over his face. "I have had the cursed bad luck to allow myself to get shot, and once again find myself in need of your assistance."

Christine could tell that it was an effort for Erik to talk for so long, and she took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. Nadir looked at her, slightly puzzled, but decided that he would find out what her part in this odd tale was later.

"Of course, old friend. Here, let me help you…"

Nadir hauled Erik to his feet again, supporting the thinner man easily. Christine got to her feet as well, looking up at the Persian as though asking what she should do.

"If you will wait here, mam'selle… perhaps I could ask Darius to bring you a cup of tea?"

"No, no thank you, monsieur. This is… very kind of you…"

Nadir smiled; he could tell that this girl cared a good deal about Erik.

"You can… trust him, Christine. He has… saved my life… before today…"

The girl Erik called Christine smiled, and Nadir led Erik into another room.

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A/N: Those of you who know me well are now rather confused, I'm sure. You're all going "Eh? I thought you couldn't stand the Persian!" True, the Persian does annoy me in Monsieur Leroux's version of events - omnipotent characters get on my nerves very easily. Strangely enough, however, I like him in fanfics, and as I have yet to get my hands on Susan Kay's novel, I may come to like him yet. And besides, our favorite Phantom needs another friend.

So, tell me what you think! Thanks for reading! --Kyrie


	2. Vicissitudes

A/N: Well, here's the promised chapter! Thanks to everyone who's read - this story's got 3 reviews, 2 alerts, 2 favorites, and 78 hits in only two days! Thanks a lot, especially to **Whisper of the Winds**, **broadwaygirl257**, and **Kinetic Asparagus** for their reviews! I really hope this chapter is up to snuff. Erm... do I have anything else to say? No? Well, enjoy!

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Chapter 2: Vicissitudes

_16th February, 1882, late_

Nadir reappeared in the front room of his apartment to find the young woman who had accompanied Erik to his doorstep pacing back and forth, twisting her hands together, despite the lateness of the hour.

"You know, both you and Erik seem to have a vendetta against my carpets." he said with a laugh, remembering just how many times he had told Erik that he would wear a hole in the floor from pacing.

Christine jumped and turned to see the tall, broad-shouldered Persian man standing in the doorway.

"Is he…?" she asked fearfully.

"Erik will be fine."

"Oh, thank God." Christine said, putting her hand up to her face and trying to calm down, although every breath shuddered. "Thank you so much, monsieur."

"Nadir, please." he said with a smile, looking down at the girl curiously. Unless Erik had changed a great deal since they had parted, this young woman seemed the least likely of companions for him. And yet here she was… and the way she had looked at his old friend before told him just how much she cared about Erik. It all seemed very strange.

"Mademoiselle…?" Nadir asked, searching for her name.

"Christine."

"Christine. I was rather curious as to your part in this strange tale."

"Erik is… my voice teacher. I am one of the principals at the Palais Garnier."

"Ah, I see. And how did Erik come to be involved in the Opera?"

Christine wasn't sure what to say. She did not want to tell a complete stranger about Erik's involvement at the Opera, even if he had known Erik in the past.

"I am sure you know how much Erik loves music, monsieur." she said, supplying a vague answer.

Nadir smiled. Here was someone who understood Erik's ways, it seemed.

"Of course. It was his salvation in Persia, I think. And perhaps you could tell me how Erik came to be injured in the first place?"

Christine hesitated, but decided there was no harm in telling him a little about the events of that evening.

"The Opera was performing Erik's work… they set it as a trap for him." she said quietly, choosing to leave out the fact that she was to have been the bait. "I… the rest of the company didn't like the idea… I assume that Piangi – that is, the leading tenor – stormed off… and Erik took his place. I… I didn't know there was a marksman in the orchestra pit…"

Christine shuddered, unable to say another word. It had been too horrible…

"And you got him off the stage and convinced him to come for help? No small feat, mam'selle."

"Thank you, sir." Christine said softly. "Although I doubt he would have done it for anyone else." she added under her breath, but Nadir heard it all the same.

"Monsieur, may I see Erik, please?" she asked suddenly, looking up at the Persian.

"He is asleep right now."

"I know… but… please?"

There was such a pleading look in her eyes that Nadir could not help but acquiesce. He led the girl Christine to his bedroom, where Erik was asleep on the couch. A thick, white bandage was prominent on his shoulder, and his face was very pale. Nadir was very surprised to see that Christine showed absolutely no reaction to Erik's unmasked face. Perhaps she had seen it before… or perhaps she simply did not care.

Christine knelt down beside Erik and gently pulled the blanket up over him, careful not to touch his injured shoulder. Unaware that Nadir was still standing in the doorway, she kissed Erik's deformed cheek gently.

"_Bonne nuit, mon ange. Je t'aime._" she whispered, smiling softly.

Nadir's eyebrows rose when he heard that. Did Erik know of this? He knew that Erik had never known love; in fact, when they had been in Persia, Erik had hated the merest suggestion of the word. He took a good look at Christine, wondering how his friend could have changed so drastically, when he saw just how exhausted she was. She was kneeling on the floor beside Erik, her body leaning heavily on the couch. Her head drooped, held inches over Erik's shoulder, and Nadir could almost see the battle going on in the young woman's mind, how much she wanted to simply put her head down on her maestro's shoulder and rest…

"You ought to get some sleep, Christine. Come, I will take you home. You can return in the morning."

Christine jumped and blushed furiously when she saw that the Persian man was still there, but she got to her feet and returned his smile.

"Thank you, Nadir. Thank you very much."

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_17th February, 1882_

Erik awoke with a groan early the next afternoon. He sat up and winced as pain raced up and down his right arm, centered on his shoulder. Once it had subsided to a dull ache, he looked around, realized where he was, and remembered everything that had happened the previous evening. Careful to keep his right arm as still as possible, he pushed back the blanket and swung his legs off the couch. His head spun slightly as he changed his position, presumably due to all the blood he'd lost the night before. He ironed his face with his hands and realized with a jolt that he didn't have his mask.

"Damn." he muttered. Well, he would just have to go and get it.

He started to get to his feet just as Nadir entered the room.

"I wouldn't do that were I you, Erik." he said with a chuckle.

"Well, as you are not me…" Erik replied coolly, and tried to push himself up. He grimaced as pain shot across his arm again.

"What did I tell you?" Nadir said, pushing Erik gently back onto the couch. "You were just shot, Erik, you need to rest."

Erik opened his mouth, but for a long time nothing came out of it. For once, he was at a loss for words.

"I… thank you, Nadir." he said finally, perhaps a little awkwardly.

Nadir's eyebrows rose considerably. The past twenty four hours had just been full of surprises…

"Whatever for?"

"I know full well you saved my life last night. Thank you."

"You have changed, Erik. When last I knew you, you disapproved of your life being saved a great deal, if I remember correctly."

"My life was hell then, Nadir. I did not want it to continue." Erik said softly.

"Then, yes, but what about now? What brought you to the Paris Opera, of all places?"

Erik stiffened.

"Has Christine spoken to you?"

Nadir smiled at his friend's apprehension.

"Very little, Erik. She only told me that the managers of the Opera had set a trap for you, and that it had almost succeeded. Now, how did you come to be in Paris? And why did these managers wish to hunt you down in the first place?"

"You are being very inquisitive, Nadir." Erik said, almost tersely.

"I believe I am entitled to be inquisitive when you appear on my doorstep wounded within an inch of your life, accompanied by an opera singer, of all people."

Erik glared up at Nadir, but explained briefly.

"I helped to build the Palais Garnier. I have been living in the cellars ever since. I've… made rather a name for myself there, as the Phantom of the Opera. Which is why they wanted to 'hunt me down,' as you so eloquently put it."

"There is quite a lot you aren't telling me, Erik. What about Christine? I'm quite sure she would have stayed with you all night if I hadn't made her go home to get some sleep."

"She is my student." Erik muttered.

Nadir looked disbelievingly down at Erik.

"I've never seen any teacher look at his pupil quite that way, Erik."

Erik sighed, defeated. Nadir had always been incredibly good at seeing straight through him…

"My life was hell once. Christine… I… she is…" Damn! Words had never evaded him like this before!

"You love her."

Erik nodded, feeling slightly lost. He was so unused to love being used in any reference to him.

"She was here, earlier. You had not yet woken, but she brought you this…" Nadir picked up a carpet bag sitting by the door and handed it to Erik. "She thought perhaps you might want it."

Erik nodded his thanks to Nadir and opened the bag. Inside was a fresh change of clothes… and his mask. The latter he snatched from the bag and pressed to his face so quickly that he did not realize that he had used his bad arm until a second afterwards. He snarled as the jolt of fire shot across his arm and chest once more.

"Careful, Erik!" Nadir said warningly.

Erik ignored the chide and continued to look through the bag. A few books from his library were tucked in at the bottom, along with his flute, of all things, and a few pages of music. He smiled softly at Christine's thoughtfulness. And then – how could he have missed it? – he found something from the top of the pile that he had pushed aside before. One of the roses he had planned to give her after the performance. He kept that in the bag, not wanting Nadir to see. He'd told him enough already.

Nadir, sensing that it would be an apt moment to leave Erik alone for a bit, stepped out of the room. He was not surprised in the slightest when Erik joined him in his front room a few minutes later.

"Erik…" Nadir said warningly.

"I know, Nadir. You have just recently reminded me that I need to be careful. But I do not plan on encroaching on your hospitality much longer."

"It is no trouble to me, Erik. And from what I have gathered, it seems like you have nowhere else to go."

Erik chose to ignore that remark, made all the easier by a soft knock at the front door.

"Did… Christine say she would be back?" Erik asked, trying to sound offhanded.

Nadir smiled at his friend's apparent nerves.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, she did."

Christine followed the Persian man into the front room, and her face lit up when she saw Erik standing there waiting for her. She resisted the urge to run forward and fling her arms around his neck, knowing his shoulder must still be very painful.

"Erik! I'm so glad to see you!" she said, stepping towards him and beaming.

"Thank you for fetching those things for me, Christine. It was very thoughtful."

Nadir, standing to the side, raised his eyebrows slightly when Erik spoke. It was a voice quite different from the Erik he knew. It was soft and gentle, tender, and he remembered that Christine had called him her angel the night before… it was fitting. He was slightly surprised – the voice he knew was powerful, commanding, somewhat sardonic. Erik's voice had almost been a weapon in Persia… and yet it had changed so completely that he barely recognized it. And yet with only a single glance at Christine's face, all of Nadir's many questions were answered. Smiling and chuckling to himself, the Persian slipped out of the room once again.

Erik, suddenly completely unaware of Nadir's presence, or rather, lack thereof, wrapped his good arm around Christine's waist and crushed her to him. Christine, although slightly surprised, returned his embrace just as hard, leaning her head against his shoulder. She sighed contentedly as he pressed his cheek to the top of her head. It was strange, perhaps, but it felt _right_, to be so close to him. His heart thudded rhythmically beneath her ear, and she shuddered, thinking of what she had almost lost.

"Never scare me like that again, all right?" she said softly, raising her head to meet his eyes.

Erik smiled when he looked down at her. There was a look on her face that no other person had ever afforded him. There was love and concern there in her eyes, and he was still so surprised to see it… how long had he hoped for this, and yet never thought that it might really come to pass…?

"I'll try my best, _mon ange_." he said with a grin, gently touching her russet curls with his other hand. "Christine… as glad as I am to see you, I can't help but wonder why you aren't at the Opera, rehearsing. Isn't there a performance tonight?"

Christine's face fell, and Erik was instantly afraid that he had said the wrong thing. She looked so unhappy all of a sudden…

"Christine?"

"I'm not going back to the Opera House, Erik. I can never go back."

She looked up again to see Erik's shocked expression and a half-smile played across her face.

"But… _why_?"

"Oh, Erik, don't you understand? I can't go back there, not after what they did to you. What they forced _me_ to do to you… I should never have let any of this happen, I should have left a long time ago…And, Erik, do you really think they would take me back after what I did last night? I would more likely be arrested than welcomed."

Erik's face paled as he thought of all the trouble he might have gotten his angel into.

"Christine… I am so sorry…"

"No, Erik, it's my fault. Everything that happened last night was my fault… You… really think I'm worried about a position now, when you could have been killed…?" Christine's voice suddenly broke, and she choked back a sob. "If… if you… I don't know what I'd do… I love you, Erik."

Erik couldn't help but stare when she said that, her eyes filled with tears. He was even more surprised when Christine threw her arms around him, clutching her to him desperately.

"_Je t'aime aussi, mon ange_." he whispered, then kissed the top of her head gently. She looked up at him and smiled, although she didn't relinquish her hold on him. "Where are you going to go?" he asked.

She sighed, shaking her head slightly, although she was still smiling.

"Oh, Erik, I thought you would already know that…"

Erik raised an eyebrow, hardly daring to hope that she meant what he thought she did… And as his answer, Christine stood on her tiptoes and sang softly into his ear:

"_Anywhere you go, let me go too_… _Love me, that's all I ask of you_…"

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FIN

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A/N: I know, Erik probably shouldn't have been quite so chipper, but he strikes me as the kind of person you'd have to tie down to keep down if they were conscious.

Thanks very much to everyone who's read, and I really hope you liked it! Please leave me a review and tell me what you think! Your feedback is very, very helpful!

--Kyrie


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